


Noelle

by Dormammu12



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Erotica, F/M, Guillemard's Syndrome, Pregnancy Except Without That Nasty Business Featuring Babies and Birth, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24561211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dormammu12/pseuds/Dormammu12
Summary: It's your classic "boy meets girl" story. "Boy meets girl, girl rejects boy, boy finds girl again by working as her family's private banker".
Relationships: Noelle Khoo/Raymond Teoh
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am Dormammu12 on DeviantArt. My online presence may be located in its totality (sans AO3, but I'll add that at some point) here: linktr . ee / dormammu12

The alarm rang.

Raymond grimaced, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and fiddled with his phone until it shut up. Wiggling his toes, he rose to his feet and headed into the bathroom to wash up. His watch was on the sink; after wiping his face and changing, he headed out for a jog. It was five-thirty in the morning.

He returned by six-thirty to prepare breakfast. This took about ten minutes - he tended to consume two slices of bread and one slice of cheese on weekdays. Occasionally, he switched to jam. When he was especially fast, he would consider scrambled eggs. It was a simple and easily internalized routine which he had followed religiously for the past five years; he was done by seven.

Back into his bedroom he went. His flat was practically empty - a simple two-room affair in the centre of the city, bought for as low a price as he dared. His bedroom - including an en-suite bathroom - contained only a bed and a cupboard. Upon opening his cupboard, he withdrew a single suit of clothes from eye-level and changed. He was out of the house by seven-fifteen, thumbing the button on the lift, and slid into his Toyota with a grunt.

He hadn’t quite wiped the dust from his eyes by the time he arrived at his workplace; a few quick checks in the mirrored doors of the lift sufficed to get the worst of it out. Sliding his spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose, Raymond sent a few polite nods to coworkers; none of them were in the mood to talk, at least not until they’d booted up their desktops and gotten the first item of work off their desks.

Raymond’s first few hours passed by quickly enough. Every thirty minutes, he rose to his feet to hang around at the water cooler, staring at one of the posters pinned up on the walls to rest his eyes. Once in a while, his colleagues would pass by. They’d chat for a bit. They never hung around, though. Everyone had things to do.

Raymond had things to do, too. Part of that was overseeing his clients’ portfolios; another part was keeping up-to-date on fresh and interesting market instruments for said clients. As a matter of fact, he had a meeting with a new client tonight at one of the various fancy restaurants scattered across the city. The Khoos had significant overseas properties, predominantly in Indonesia. But - before that - he had a lunch with the Lams at eleven.

At ten-thirty, Raymond went to the bathroom and straightened his tie. The door to the office closed gently behind him as he went to the lift and thumbed a button.

It was just another day at work.

\-----

Noelle woke up at ten-thirty in the morning.

The morning sun was streaming through the windows; her gaze traced the barely-discernible dust motes as they danced in the sunrays. There was an arm thrown over her chest; shrugging it off, she slid out of the covers and stretched, light playing over the taut skin of her belly. Then she turned around, her head tilted, to consider the man in her bed.

Well, it wasn’t her bed, strictly speaking - she was in a hotel room. Noelle didn’t bring her one-night stands home with her. That would have been letting them into her lives, and she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Noelle ran her hands through her tangled hair and strolled into the bathroom.

“Ergh,” she muttered, upon catching sight of herself in the mirror, and got to work cleaning up her face. Her mascara had run, her lipstick was patchy, and there was a faint sheen of oil on her skin. Well, that last one wasn’t unexpected - Noelle had always had oily skin - but she wasn’t overly fond of what followed.

“Morning,” said her date, from the door, and Noelle turned. In that moment, as she caught the look in his eye, she permitted herself to imagine that she looked exactly as she had the night before - hair artfully tousled, eyes smoky, lips perfectly kissable, the fine bones of her neck leading one’s gaze down to the swell of her breasts, which were neither too large nor too small. And yet, as his eyes swept down, past her breasts…

“Oh,” her date said, sobering up abruptly, and the moment was broken.

“Oh indeed,” retorted Noelle, eyes flashing, and made her way over to him, striding rather than waddling. She’d waddled for a bit, as she’d grown taller, but there were no more growth spurts left to come, and besides she had a personal trainer to make sure that she didn’t do that embarrassing side-to-side thing with her ass. “Come on. Out.”

“Could I stay -”

“Nope. Out.” Noelle planted her hands on his bare back and pushed him out into the bedroom. Their clothes were strewn across the living room, and Noelle braced herself on the sofa as he did up his jeans, watching appreciatively. He glanced up, shot her a smile; Noelle returned it, though it did not reach her eyes. “It was nice having you.”

“Thanks for having me,” came the quick reply. Noelle nodded at the door; he opened it, hesitated on the threshold, and turned around. “Actually,” he asked, mildly, “I was wondering if you’ve seen my phone.”

His phone was on the floor, but his shoes were already on, and he wasn’t about to soil the carpet to get his phone. Noelle took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and carefully lowered herself to a crouch.

That was the easy part.

As Noelle tried to stand up, the phone still in her hand, she tipped forward from the weight and the bare underside of her belly pressed into the carpet. Her face burned crimson; the door was still open, and she could feel the breeze coming in from the corridor. What if someone looked in to see her on the floor, groaning like a beached whale? She certainly felt close enough to it often enough.

“There’s no rush,” her one-night stand volunteered, nervously, and Noelle bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood.

A few moments later, she held the phone in one hand and used the other to haul herself up by holding onto the nearby couch. Noelle had never been one for sports (or, really, any activity in general), and while she was tall and slim, it did not make her fast or particularly agile. She’d always been the most ungainly of her friends - at least, those afflicted with her particular condition. This meant that, when her fingers slipped and she landed hard on her bottom, experience prevented her from crying out.

“Oh, careful,” came the unhelpful response from the door. “Are you alright?”

“Fuck off,” Noelle mumbled.

Eventually, she left the phone on the couch and got to her feet, pressing her hands against the curve of her lower back. “Here,” she snapped, allowing her posture to lapse into a waddle, and pressed the phone into his hands. “Now, is there anything else.” It wasn’t a question.

It was eleven by the time Noelle felt sufficiently put-together to continue with the day. This was because there was a notification on her phone - five hundred messages, spread across the five social media platforms upon which she was active. That, in itself, took about thirty minutes to go through. Noelle planned out her daily timetables meticulously, but plans rarely - if ever - turned out the way she wanted when they came into contact with reality.

Her bare buttocks itched from where they had been pressed into the soft cushions of the couch, so Noelle heaved herself to her feet and made her slow, ungainly way into the walk-in wardrobe to take stock of her appearance. _Oh, god_ , she thought, _not another pity-party_ , but it wasn’t like she could help it. She had a tendency to obsessively parse every single social interaction that didn’t go perfectly until she realized where she had gone wrong.

But how did one fix a congenital syndrome?

Noelle turned to the side and supported her back with her other arm. Veins spiralled across the pale, pinkish, distended skin of her swollen abdomen. In fact, the adjective was unnecessary; this _was_ how her stomach looked like most of the time, filled with a virtually inert liquid that did little other than take up space. Her belly button was a gaping ruin. Noelle pursed her lips, splashed some water on her face, and turned away from the mirror. She had a lunch (oh, well - she supposed it was a brunch) at twelve.

On went her bra, stuffed with absorbent tissues just in case her breasts felt like leaking today. On went her panties, the waistband curving under the fleshy globe of her gut, itself sagging under its sheer weight, one long-fingered hand picking at the fabric to ensure that it didn’t upset the tender flesh on her widened hips. On went her pants, obsessively tailored and retailored whenever she had a wardrobe malfunction (which, given her condition, happened unpleasantly often). On went her tent of a shirtdress, which had first been purchased when she was sixteen, and which had been periodically extended and reworked with every increase in size. It had started out with twelve buttons; now, it had sixteen, with the bottommost one almost (but not quite) out of reach.

Once all that was done, there was still makeup to be done, but Noelle was honestly fed up with all the work it had taken, plus it was eleven-thirty. So she settled for calling a Grab and stuffing her feet into her moccasins. And so it was that Noelle found herself at the hotel entrance, sneering as curious Chinese tourists stared, her Coach clutch in one hand and the other gently kneading the tender side of her belly. It was, she reckoned, almost a separate individual on its own, given how large it had grown and how outsize an influence it had on the rest of her life.

The taxi’s arrival, fortunately, freed her from any further brooding.

\-----

Lunch had been enlightening enough.

Mr Lam appreciated it when his private banker used a pen and paper to take down his every request - that was one thing that his mentor had passed down to him. The Lams had a portfolio of some two hundred million USD in properties and stocks, with an additional ten million in luxury goods that included a Ferrari and a Maserati. Once Raymond had worked with them for a few years, Mr Lee said, maybe Mr Lam would let him have a go behind the wheel of the Maserati.

_Maybe._

He came back to his office with a wealth of notes, which he promptly dumped into the bin. Enough of the Lams’ requests had been recorded for him to begin the necessary procedures with the necessary authorities. The afternoon blurred by in a mess of bureaucracy and form-filling, plus liaisons with the assorted hangers-on in the Lam entourage - a relatively small operation tasked with the maintenance of a decidedly large fortune.

Tonight’s dinner wasn’t, strictly speaking, a dinner - Raymond considered such meals to take place after four-thirty, and they wanted to meet at three-thirty. Strange, but who was he to argue with the rich? It was more of an appointment, anyway.

He powered off his computer, spoke to his boss for half an hour, and hurried down to the carpark in time to leave by three.

\-----

Brunch had been quick. Dinner would be faster.

Not for the first time, Noelle wondered what she had done to deserve this. Back at Heron - even back at Heron - she’d been the largest. Oh, Jocelyn had been the smallest of them all, and she’d been the most active in consequence, but Jacqueline was larger. Noelle was larger still - it was due to her height. Jacqueline was shorter, but Noelle was well on her way to two metres. That was something that she kept coming back to - not least because the two other girls tended to comment on it. It was understandable - Jacqueline looked like she was all belly, sometimes, and Jocelyn was desperate to emphasize her sociability as opposed to her very obvious medical condition - but it didn’t mean that Noelle liked it, either.

Her taxi had arrived. Noelle set her clutch carefully on the seat and manoeuvred herself sideways into the front seat, one hand pressing against the gurgling mass of her belly through her shirt. She could feel the driver’s eyes on her back, especially on the industrial-strength straps that kept her breasts in place and prevented them from shifting overmuch. By the time she was in a comfortable position, she could almost - but not quite - feel the glove compartment pressing against her underbelly.

The trip was fast enough. Noelle had her own car, but she’d gone out drinking last night, which meant that she couldn’t take her Jaguar along. That was unfortunate - like most of her personal belongings, it had been specially designed to provide allowance for her increased spatial demands (as in, she could actually fit inside without bending over backwards). The sun sparkled over the dashboard; Noelle attempted to style her hair in the rearview mirror and slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

\-----

Raymond arrived at the restaurant, adjusted his tie in the bathroom one more time, and stepped in. He was early, fortunately - Mr Khoo and his wife arrived some time later, shook his hands, and sat down to go over the menu. “I must apologize for my children,” he said, some time later, after the servile waiter had taken down their orders and scampered off back to the kitchen. “They do not have a very good grasp of punctuality.”

“Oh, there’s no problem,” Raymond replied, quickly. “I’m sure they have plenty to contribute with regard to the family finances as well.”

“Layabouts, the lot of them,” Mrs Khoo muttered affectionately, shortly after which a tall young man barrelled into the restaurant and threw himself into the chair beside Raymond, pumping his hand furiously. This, then, was the baby of the family and the anointed heir, Carlton.

“So nice to meet you,” said Carlton, quite solicitously. He was charming, and carried himself with an iron self-confidence common to scions of absurdly rich but not particularly showy families. Raymond was peripherally aware that Carlton was something of a car aficionado; working on that assumption, he proceeded to make small talk on the subject with the younger man for the better part of fifteen minutes before Andrea, the second child, arrived. She settled into her chair, contributed a few pleasantries, and started typing away on her phone. Mr Khoo checked his watch.

“My eldest daughter,” he offered. “She’s very independent.”

“Ah,” said Raymond tactfully and diplomatically.

“She has a medical condition,” Mr Khoo continued. “I say this because you might be surprised at her appearance.”

“Ah, is that so?” Raymond steeled himself.

“It’s a congenital condition called Guillemard’s - ah, there she is."

Raymond turned to follow his client's gaze. There, at the entrance - a young woman, tall and slim, making her way gingerly over, her stomach a vast, round mound covered by a blue shirtdress. Her hair - Raymond remembered that it had been black, back at Heron, but now it was dyed a very dark brown. Red lips, pressed together; clear, unblemished skin. As he watched, she removed her sunglasses and stowed them, self-consciously, inside her clutch. "Hey, Dad. Sorry I'm late." Carlton waved; Andrea nodded absently. Under the table, Raymond felt his hands begin to spontaneously clench and unclench.

"Ah, Noelle." Mr Khoo spread his hands and took a sip from his glass. "This is Raymond Teoh, our new private banker. Raymond, my eldest."

Raymond forced the tension from his fists and rose to his feet. Their hands touched; he absorbed the sensation of her cool, soft skin, the immaculate manicure, the smell of expensive perfume. They'd shook hands once, just once; this was the second time. The second time he'd touched her. He heard himself speak as though from the bottom of a well. "Good afternoon, Ms Khoo."

The look of faint disinterest never left her face. "Mr Teoh." He met her eyes, held it for a beat, looked away, let go of her hand. "Dad. Have you ordered yet?"

Raymond sat back down, cradling his hand. There was a faint throbbing behind his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> linktr . ee / dormammu12

Noelle Khoo was studying.

He could see her face from where he was crouching on the second floor. She was on the first floor, seated at one of the benches dotting Heron Junior College, face tight with concentration, those almond-shaped eyes of hers roving over the notes swamping the wooden surface. Her back was straight; he could see the upper segment of her belly peek over the surface of the table, and from time to time she would press her palm into the yielding flesh of her distended stomach as though to knead away some discomfort or another. Her hair was in a ponytail today; it was always in a ponytail.

Raymond put his binoculars down and sat back in his chair, exhaling softly. The air-conditioning was off; the room he was sitting in was dark. The lights were off. He dropped his head, squinting through the slats in the windows, and pressed his wet lips together, penis a hard little branch in his pants. _Information stolen is so much sweeter than information freely given_ , he thought to himself half-deliriously.

“What do we have here?”

Raymond jerked, his chair skidding backwards, as the door swung open. Derek Shi walked into the empty, dark classroom, eyes glinting meanly. Peter Foo stepped in after his friend ( _his ally, his accomplice, his co-conspirator_ \- Raymond had not yet begun to believe that genuine, true friends really existed in this world) and switched the lights on. Mouth dry, fingers twitching, Raymond stared at them, paralyzed. Derek plucked the binoculars out of his hand and glanced out the window, at Noelle still leafing blamelessly through her notes.

“Hey, didn’t she block you on Instagram?”

“She did,” Peter confirmed, working his jaw. Raymond blinked at him idiotically, unwilling to admit to himself that the two boys had genuine grievances against him. “Seriously, Teoh, how many times do we need to remind you that if Noelle wants to be left alone, you _fucking_ leave her _bloody_ well enough alone?”

“I,” Raymond said. “I was just looking.” He began his sentence strongly enough, but it petered out into a whisper by the time he was done.

Derek gazed thoughtfully at the binoculars. Then he let it fall to the floor and stepped on it once, twice, three times. The lenses crunched under his shoes. “Next time,” he said, very amiably, “if we catch you again, we’ll take this to the Discipline Master. I swear.”

Raymond watched them leave. They left the lights on.

After a few minutes, he switched off the lights and turned to stare at Noelle again until the throbbing behind his eyes faded into a dull murmur. Then he picked up his shattered binoculars and went home.

\-----

Raymond jerked.

“Fuck,” he said, heart pounding, staring out into the darkness. “Fuck.”

He’d switched the air-conditioning on once he got back, settling on the couch with a cup of warm water. As his fingers closed around the glass, he grimaced; it was frigid. He’d dozed off… and he’d come in his sleep. _Must’ve been today’s dinner._ He removed his tie, his jacket, his pants, and went for a shower. It took a few minutes; by the time he was out of the shower, it finally occurred to him to check the time, which he duly did. It was a few minutes past midnight.

Raymond opened one of the windows and lit a cigarette. The city stretched out below him - condominiums, the distant lights of the shopping malls, the sedate clumps of private housing, the whir of trains and automobiles. He took a deep drag, switched off the air-conditioning, and left his cigarette in the ashtray.

The coffee table was strewn with papers. Raymond had requested - and duly received - all the information that his company could muster on the Khoo family. “Research”. Well, that was true - in a way.

He’d forgotten about Noelle over the years. One of his alts was still hooked up to her account, and there was a script that he’d written to capture all her posts and stories from the minute they were uploaded. Seeing her today had been… well, it wasn’t a good thing, but he hesitated to call it a bad thing. _Does she remember?_ He took another drag on his cigarette and booted up his computer.

The National University. That’s where she’d gone. Medicine. Dr. Noelle Khoo. “Doctor Noelle Khoo,” Raymond murmured, rolling the words around in his mouth. He thought back to that day at the train station. The image was no longer as crystal-sharp as it had been, but the look on her face as she processed his words - Raymond could still feel her eyes harden. For the next two years, whenever she looked at him, it was with contempt, mockery, perhaps a peculiarly hard-edged breed of pity. But yesterday - yesterday it was just disinterest.

A reset. Yes, that’s what it was. A reset.

Raymond clicked on. File after file, clip after clip, image after image. Noelle, out on the town with her other doctor friends; eyes screaming for help as one of her classmates playfully pressed a stethoscope to her exposed gut; raising a glass in celebration; blackout drunk on a sofa; back in town, surrounded by friends. She’d gone back to Heron to celebrate its fiftieth anniversary. He hadn’t.

Raymond lit another cigarette.

\-----

Noelle closed the door and threw her weight against the wood, breathing heavily. There was a slight creak as it took her weight; she could feel her hair, lank against her neck, sweat-matted. _Ugh._

“God,” she whispered, exhausted. Jogging - indeed, any form of exercise - had never been particularly enjoyable for Noelle. The excess fluid circulating in her legs put her thighs and feet under quite a fair bit of pressure, and the sensation of her perennially-swollen breasts heaving in her custom-made sports bra had never been one that she relished. But worst of all was her belly - such an enormous growth hanging off her torso put her back under an equally enormous strain. Even when she went for an objectively leisurely jog around her condominium complex, a back brace remained necessary to cup the bottom part of her gut and grip it firmly in place to prevent any excessive wobbling. The top of her stomach glimmered with sweat; panting, she undid her ponytail, wincing as her hair fell over her shoulders, and pulled the belly band back to allow her gut to list forward, sagging down over her black tights, themselves stretched thin over her thighs.

Yes, Noelle was exhausted… but she was also, ever-so-slightly, aroused.

She heaved herself back to her feet, began to stroll around the apartment, still panting. The sun had not yet risen; Noelle tended to be an early riser, except for when she was nursing a hangover. She pressed the warmth in her loins back into the depths of her lizard brain and focused instead on the unromantic and thoroughly mundane task of getting dressed and preparing breakfast. _Work, work, work!_ she thought to herself sternly. _Daddy’s going to be upset if I reach the company any later than half-past-seven. I’m on thin fucking ice as it is._

She stripped off her sports bra in the kitchen, threw it into the laundry basket. Kicked off her running shoes, specially reinforced to make sure that her feet didn’t rupture under the pressure they were being subjected to. Pulled off her expensive socks, winced at her damaged pedicure. One hand groped blindly in the fridge before emerging triumphantly with a bottle of 100PLUS. Noelle nudged her tender flesh, gasping at the sheer heat radiating from her gut, and gulped her isotonic drink down greedily.

_You’re getting so big_ , she thought to herself, and flushed.

Rationally speaking, she wasn’t big at all. There were others who’d grown much bigger… but she’d never really seen them in person before. And she’d seen a lot of Guillemard diagnoses. How could she not? She, Jocelyn and Jacqueline had been leveraged extensively by their parents in their relentless thirst to be seen as social advocates, do-gooders, et cetera.

And now she was angry. Noelle blew a stray strand of dyed-brown hair out of her eyes and wriggled out of her tights, followed shortly after by her sensible black panties. Why wouldn’t she be angry? She had every right to be angry. But it wouldn’t look good on her to be seen to be angry. After all, she wasn’t having it that bad. She wasn’t even being emotionally blackmailed. She loved being at the centre of attention, poked and prodded like a prize pig. She _loved_ it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Noelle grumbled. A string of invective dribbled from her lips as she stepped into her rainbath and turned the water on full-blast. Cold water cascaded over her tangled, sweaty locks, dripping between her breasts and making the long journey over the yawning curve of her belly. _That’s it_ , she thought, tilting her face up to bask in the cold. _Freeze out the emotion. Cool. Calm._

She was out of the cubicle in a few minutes, wiping her face with a scented bath towel. One hand prodded gingerly at her sensitive nethers; perhaps it was time for another Brazilian? Noelle pouted at herself in the mirror, puffed her chest out; the flight of fancy lasted for a few seconds before her face snapped back into its default, vaguely disdainful expression. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t sexy. She was a whale.

Tilting her head to the right, so that she could see past her belly, she nudged the scale with her foot. Noelle had a routine; she checked her weight once a week. The prognosis was rarely encouraging; for all that she resented her weight gain, it wasn’t like she could do anything about it. Not when exercise was so draining. Not when her body seemed resolved to keep her marooned in her apartment, sitting on her spreading ass and sobbing into her handkerchief while devouring a bucket of ice cream.

Well… to be fair, that had only been one time.

_Quit stalling._

The scale beeped as Noelle stepped onto it and discarded her toothbrush. She was still naked, her nipples hard and erect as the cold air tickled her bare skin. This scale was very sensitive; it could calculate her weight to within 0.1 grams. That was why she was naked; her clothes, her jewellery, her shoes - all that could sway it one way or another. She wanted the scale to be as accurate as it could possibly be. Noelle bit her lip, closed her eyes… and, once she’d steeled herself sufficiently, glanced down to see the verdict.

_100.0 kg_

Fuck.

“Fuck!” snarled Noelle, stepping off the scale and slamming a fist into the counter. She took a breath, wrestling down the urge to deliver a mighty kick to the scale, and splashed more water on her face. _Guess I’m skipping breakfast today._

Her mood had soured irrevocably. Noelle slathered on her makeup mechanically, her head throbbing. On went her frumpiest underwear and her leggings, plus the obligatory belly band; a loose dress completed the ensemble. She paused, looked herself over in the mirror. Well, it wasn’t a _look_ , per se. It didn’t look planned or coordinated. She didn’t look put-together.

Fuck it.

Noelle grabbed her Saint Laurent bag and threw the door open. She was still forcing her swollen feet into her Balenciaga sneakers when she realized that she’d been sitting in her car for the past few minutes, jabbing the “Start Engine” button repeatedly. No sound was forthcoming from the engine.

“Fuck!”

What on _earth_ was wrong with the world today?

Noelle stumbled out of the car and kicked her Jaguar savagely. Then she threw herself back into her car, scowling at how the seat groaned under her weight, and started to think. She’d skipped breakfast, so she wasn’t going to be late. Besides, maybe the problem was a minor one. She’d just call Roadside Assistance and get them to settle the matter. They’d pay for her Grab (even though it was well within her means).

No. Grab wouldn’t fit her.

Noelle made a noise that sounded an awful lot like but could not possibly be a sob. Dropping her head in her hands, she felt around in her bag for a hair tie and tied her curls into a severe ponytail without opening her eyes. It took her a few minutes before she felt up to the task which now presented itself to her.

Her phone chimed as she went to her Contacts. Noelle had been planning to ask one of her friends, but another name caught her eye.

Well, if she was going to be a bitch today, then she might as well go all the way.

\-----

Raymond groped blindly for his phone. Wiping his face with his towel, he spat out his mouthwash and blinked myopically at the screen. Was his eyesight deceiving him? He could’ve sworn…

No.

_**Noelle Khoo** _ _is calling you. Answer | Decline_

Raymond rubbed his eyes.

_**Noelle Khoo** _ _is calling you. Answer | Decline_

Christ.

“Hello?” Oh, good; no stuttering, no slurring. To his own ears, his voice sounded perfectly modulated, perfectly personable. Raymond moved her to speaker and dumped his clothes on the bed, rifling through his closet for a shirt and a pair of pants.

“ _Yeah, hi, is this the new private banker?_ ”

“Yes. I believe we met last night -”

“ _Sure. I need someone to fetch me to work now._ ”

Raymond checked his watch. “Oh, uh, of course. Do you think you could -”

“ _Do you have a car?_ ”

Raymond was vaguely affronted. “Of course.”

“ _Then fetch me now._ ”

“Er, could you wait for -”

“ _No._ ”

Raymond buttoned his shirt, threw on his tie, sat down on the couch, surveying the papers he’d gathered. On went his socks. “I’m terribly sorry -”

“ _I’m sure you are,_ ” Noelle Khoo growled. “ _Look, I’m having a bad fucking day, and you do_ ** _not_** _want to make it worse. I don’t care if you’ve had breakfast or not. I don’t care if you’ve taken your morning shit or not. I don’t even care if you’re dressed yet or not. If you’re not here within fifteen minutes, I’m going to my father, and…_ ”

Raymond’s lips thinned. “Of course, Ms Khoo,” he said, mildly. “Do you have an address -”

The address was duly given. Raymond laced up his shoes and conducted a last-minute check of his briefcase. He switched off all the lights, locked the door, and sprinted to the lift.


End file.
